


Vintage

by Raspberry_Blond



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M, post-What You Leave Behind, rebuilding Cardassia era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 06:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4048897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raspberry_Blond/pseuds/Raspberry_Blond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Series. A lazy afternoon on Cardassia in which Bashir and the newly repatriated Garak renew acquaintances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vintage

Julian Bashir gasped, feeling moisture roll off his shoulders in slick rivulets. He inhaled dry, blistering air, and forced the words out.

“O-once. A-Almost. ”  
  
The hands caressing his clavicles slowed, but did not stop. 

“Oh? Do tell, Doctor. No doubt  _that_  was an interesting experience.”  
  
“G-Garak.” Julian arched upward, hoping that the movement would nudge those glorious hands further down his body. “It was ... it was a long time a-a-ago.”  
  
“Precisely. You know how fascinating I find any stories about your youth.”  
  
The hands were skimming the surface of Julian's skin now, the lack of pressure heightening his arousal even more than the gentle kneading had done. When Julian groaned, he could almost see that pleased, serpentine grin Garak loved to flash when he was being particularly devious or deliberately obtuse.  
  
“I can only imagine what the circumstances might have been that would have allowed you an opportunity to make love in a vineyard.”  
  
Fingertips trailed down his neck and Julian knew that this maddening teasing would continue. He'd been foolish to rise to the bait. It would have been better to just close his eyes and limit his vocal interaction with the Cardassian to moans, sighs and the occasional “Oh  _God_ , just there!” But he'd opened the door with his damnable big mouth, and he would have to walk through it if he wanted to get those hands where he desperately needed them.  
  
Julian angled up on his elbows, squinting against the bright Cardassian sun. Before him, on his knees, was Garak. Like Bashir, the Cardassian was completely nude. _Unlike_ Bashir, he glowed in the heat, his scales and ridges shimmering like new latinum, jet hair slightly mussed.

Bashir licked his lips. Garak smiled politely, but the desire in the cornflower eyes was plain. Julian almost groaned again when Garak slowly released him and sat back on his haunches, waiting, eyes narrowed. Julian sighed then, bowing to the inevitable.  
  
“I was on leave from Starfleet Medical. The woman I was seeing seriously at that time invited me to visit some relatives of hers. They owned a chateau and vineyard in the Upper Loire Valley. That is in the nation-state of France, on Earth. It is famed for its wines.”  
  
“It sounds like an enchanting place.”  
  
“It was lovely. Her family was quite well-to-do. The property had been theirs for centuries.” Julian tried to swallow away the dustiness in his mouth. “At any rate, Palis and I took a private tour of the vineyard one afternoon. Along the way, she pointed out a small clearing where she said that once, when she was a child playing with some of her cousins, they'd all come across two laborers who were quite obviously making love. None of them knew what was going on at the time, of course. They were children; they all thought it was a game of some sort … only played naked.”

Julian half smiled. “Palis said no one ever said a word about what they'd seen, but she'd wondered what it would be like to be naked, rolling around in the fresh-tilled soil, amongst the vines … the clusters of grapes … out there in the sun and the open air.”  
  
“Ah.” Garak's rich, cultured voice made Julian shiver. “Your lover was quite a hedonist, then. You do have good taste, my dear. Go on.”  
  
“After she told me the story, she suggested we … well, find out for ourselves what it would be like.” Julian felt his body flush, but he was not sure if it was due to the memory or Garak's hands suddenly tracing circles on his thighs. “I, um, said that would be a bad idea. She tried to persuade me, but I refused.”  
  
“I'm surprised. I would have thought such a situation would have appealed to your sense of adventure. After all, you do seem to have an appetite for the slightly unusual.”  
  
“Yes. I suppose that's true …” Julian murmured, still tasting Garak's essence on his lips. It mixed with the sharp-sweet beverage called toloc that he had sipped earlier, and the combined flavors made his head spin. His mind brought him back to that moment - mere minutes ago now - that he'd had his mouth around Garak's wide, pulsing cock, counting the stifled gasps from the older man before it had all been over in a burst of tangy liquid on his tongue. Julian had marveled that Garak's cock did not seem to go soft even after orgasm, and that the liquid continued to leak out of it like nectar from one of the chovtlar blossoms around them. Garak had needed only a short time of recovery before he'd begun an assault of all of Julian's senses.  
  
“Why did you refuse her then?”  
  
“Her family was setting up a picnic on the edge of the vineyard. I was nervous," said Julian. "Her father was a respected doctor and I wanted him to like me. I didn't think I'd endear myself to him if he or his wife had caught me bare-arsed in the throes of passion with their daughter, possibly causing irreparable damage to their very delicate and expensive plants.”  
  
“Very practical of you. But I'm sure your lady friend was disappointed.”  
  
“That's an understatement. She barely spoke to me for the rest of the trip. She thought we'd missed a wonderful opportunity." He smiled ruefully. "After we'd broken up, I thought about that day and felt maybe she'd been right. I'd let a chance to be completely irresponsible and reckless slip right through my fingers.”  
  
“Ah, yes … until now, of course.”

The hands were back, trailing up and down the sides of Julian's body, raising gooseflesh in their wake. Julian let his head drift back.  
  
“Yes … until … now … ahhh …”  
  
He was being pushed back onto the ground again. Another trickle of moisture flowed down his neck and chest, and he moaned when he felt Garak's hot tongue lave the wet skin, moving in slow, deliberate licks, like a connoseiur. Liquid had pooled in Julian's navel and he squirmed when the tongue swirled around before lapping up the remainder. This was, Julian knew, the very definition of Cardassian lovemaking - a slow buildup, the drawn-out tease, and then an all-out assault once the defenses had been broken down. Garak being Garak, of course, had to add his own twist to things, and Julian lay helpless, splayed on the ground beneath the broiling sun, the tension in his body ratcheting up again to nearly unbearable levels rendering him unable to form rational thoughts.  
  
Though, if he were being honest, he'd stopped thinking rationally 72 hours before when he'd arrived with the Starfleet Medical convoy with supplies and inoculations against a series of retroviruses that were plaguing the still-shattered planet.

Julian had not known why he'd signed on for the mission. Everyone in Starfleet now wanted to go to Cardassia - one could make his or her career there. But because of his genetic enhancements, he had no chance of advancement or promotion, even if he were able to set Cardassia to rights singlehandedly.

Nor was he running from problems on the station. Kira was settling into command quite nicely, and as he was the only other remaining member of the original senior staff, Julian had quite a bit of prestige aboard DS9 and commanded respect among the Starfleet and Bajoran crewmembers. His romance with Ezri had fizzled out, but just as with Leeta, he had seen the end coming and was able to prepare and be somewhat philosophical about it. And Ezri, now better able to access the knowledge and experiences of the Daxes before her, had been gracious and kind. They still dined together occasionally and he foresaw them being the best of friends some day.

So Julian had no demons to chase away, no career to make, nothing truly to offer the Cardassian people that hundreds upon hundreds of Starfleet doctors weren't willing to give. And, as such, he'd had to be honest with himself when he'd beamed down to Cardassia Prime with his colleagues that his sole reason for coming was to see Garak again. To see him and to be braver than he'd had cause or desire to be in the past seven years.  
  
“Yes … please …”

Julian was panting again. The tongue had abandoned his navel and traveled lower down, tracing the head of his cock and licking along the shaft down to his balls, and up and over, spiraling down and around again and again and again …

“Garak,  _please_  -”  
  
Julian felt another squirt of liquid on his belly, and he risked cracking his eyes open, nearly growling at the sight of Garak looking down at him, decadently squeezing another handful of the grape-like chovtlar fruit over him, sending deliciously scented juice and pulp down his long, lean body.

He caught Garak's eyes briefly, saw the Cardassian's hands and mouth stained bright blue with juice. Brilliant white teeth flashed and the head dipped again, delicately licking the liquid as it trickled down, pooling at the base of Julian's cock.  
  
Bashir not been in contact with Garak at all in the eight-month interim between their last encounter. But Kira had 'friends' on Cardassia - a rich irony, considering everything - who relayed to her all the latest news, and as a result, Julian had known before he'd set out Garak's fate.

Julian had known that Garak was not a leading citizen, or on the newly reconfigured Detapa Council, or in any way, shape or form heading the charge of rebuilding his ruined world. Julian had known before he'd stepped onto the hot, sandy soil of Cardassia Prime that the new government, wanting to purge the past and avoid making similar mistakes, had taken steps to ensure that Cardassia would be remade in a certain image - one that had no room for uncomfortable reminders of its militaristic past.  
  
To that end, all those who had been proven to have ties to the military brain that had dragged Cardassia into war with the Federation and later had occupied Bajor, and all those who were 'enemy combatants' of another kind, were rousted up and deposited onto stretches of fertile land far from the city's centers. They were charged to help the state rebuild itself by producing food, clothing, replicating medicines and building structures. Menial jobs that were once done by the lower rungs of Cardassian society now shifting onto those who once wielded power - and cruelty, along with that power.  
  
When Kira had told him all of this, Julian did not have to puzzle it out for very long. The Obsidian Order  had been one of the most feared and hated organizations in Cardassian history. Garak, as a known member, and second-in-command of Enabran Tain, would surely be targeted for this “reordering” of society.

He'd sent subspace message after subspace message inquiring as to Garak's welfare, his whereabouts, his well-being. All had gone unanswered.

“Ooh … God, yes -”  
  
Julian's breath left him in a his when the darting tongue withdrew. Strong hands grasped his thighs, coaxing them apart. Julian knew that he couldn't hold his breath through what was to come, but somehow he could help himself. As he felt slow fingers, slick with something, probe the entrance to his body, he found he couldn't breathe properly. His head began to swim as the fingers slid deeper in, stretching him with less pain than Julian would have expected. 

_What in the world ..._

The vines. Of course. Garak had said the vines of the chovtlar plant contained a very slippery sap, often used in preparations for Cardassian scales and ridges. Garak had described one of the used of chovtlar sap as a sort of protectant against the relentless sun, but Julian now saw it had other uses.  
  
The unknown was what had propelled Julian to join the Federation's medical relief effort. Nothing else. Not knowing whether Garak was alive or caught up in the long-buried hatred of his people was what had decided him. The moment he'd set foot on Cardassia, Julian had made inquiries. And they had brought him to this God-forsaken place - a valley in a desert world, where nothing grew except the tangled vines of a plant Julian could barely pronounce. A small hovel at the edge of the vast vineyard belonged to his Cardassian friend. Julian had known as soon as Garak had stepped out of the cottage - he'd known something that Garak himself, perhaps, had not known.

Tain had his revenge.  
  
Julian knew it and it made him want to hit something, anything. He remembered all those years ago, when he'd dared to face the spymaster in a bid to save Garak from losing his life to the Obsidian wire. He remembered being nervous throughout, but the only moment of fear came when Tain had faced him squarely and said that he wanted Garak to grow old on Deep Space Nine, surrounded by people who hated him, knowing that he could never go home. The utter loathing Julian had seen in the older man's eyes made his blood run cold. It sickened him now that he knew the true nature of the link that had existed between Garak and Enabran Tain. But it angered him because it had come to pass as Tain had wanted - except Garak was home now. Among his people.  _His_  people - who hated what he had been and were exacting revenge under the cover of preaching what was "good for the state."  
  
It was nothing more than a second exile. Instead of making his modest living hemming women's dresses, Garak was given a plot of land and told by the government to spend the rest of his days cultivating chovtlarfruit into toloc, a Cardassian beverage reminiscent of Terran port wine, but heavier and sweeter.  _We Cardassians do love our sweets, Doctor_ , was all Garak had said when Julian had questioned him. He'd mentioned that toloc was overtaking kanar in popularity, simply because it was easier and cheaper to make, and the chovtlar was a perrenial. Julian's blood curdled when he thought of those in the new government toasting the rebuilding of their world with a beverage made by a man they held in such contempt, they would not allow him to come within the limits of any of the major cities on pain of imprisonment - or worse.

The injustice made Julian wish the Federation would just leave the damned Cardassians to it. Let them rebuild their burned-out hulk of a world alone.  _Then_  see how little they needed those with Garak's abilities and experience. Yes, Garak had done unspeakable things in the name of the state and against certain members of the Cardassian public, but that was the past - shouldn't it be left there? But as Garak had later explained as they ate a quiet, spartan meal in his modest home, there was nothing left to his people but the past and the future. If they couldn't find solace in one, they would take comfort in the other.  
  
Julian forced lungfuls of air into his body as Garak, now positioned between his legs, gently pressed into him. The Cardassian's thick cock stretched him beyond all endurance, but the pain was not unbearable, and soon, owing to the way the head of his cock was angled, Julian was moaning in delirium, trying to push himself further down on the ridged column of flesh.

“Elim … slowly -  _slowly_  …”

His fingers dug into the sandy soil, trying to gain purchse as Garak began to rock back and forth. The motion caused his cock to move in a circular motion rather than just in and out, and Julian knew he couldn't hold out very long. From the moment Garak had taken him by the hand and led him out to his vineyard after their meal, Bashir had known the longing and waiting he'd kept bottled up for nearly a decade was at an end, and that the end was going to come much too soon.

He forced himself to open his eyes, to watch Garak gaze down at him, panting with every movement, to feel his own body wind in on itself like an overwrought watch spring, to see Garak's raise a shaking hand and squeeze another stream of chovtlar juice on his shoulder. The grey face burrowed beneath his chin and Julian cried out, his release slicking the space between their bodies. He jerked bonelessly as he felt Garak suck the juice off his skin, sharp teeth nipping as he lapped up every drop.

* * *

  
Forty-eight hours later, Julian stared out into the tombish calm of space from the _U.S.S. Pushkin_ , which was his transport back to the station from Cardassia Prime. Several of his colleagues had tried to engage him in conversation, but he'd fobbed them off with excuses that he was tired from the mission. Now he sat alone in his quarters, lost in his musings.

In truth, he was thinking about Garak and what would become of him. It wasn't fair - he'd been more than willing to sacrifice his life for his people, and this is how they repaid him - to turn the 'plain and simple' tailor into a 'plain and simple' farmer? Garak had commented dryly that he'd grown to like horticulture while on assignment on Romulus posing as a gardener. But he never thought it would be taken to this extreme.  
  
Before they had parted, it had been on the tip of Bashir's tongue to ask Garak to go back to DS9 with him. They could be together. They could build something -  _be_  something - greater than the sum of their parts; that much was obvious from the afternoon they'd spent together in Garak's vineyard.

But he'd read the man’s eyes and tabled the question.

And he'd understood. It had saddened him, but Julian had understood. Despite the indignities, the slights, the struggles, the tedium, and the damned _heat_ and sickly smell of overripe fruit and enzymes, to Garak, he _was_  home. The station might be more comfortable, it might be more hospitable, and he would certainly have more company – but DS9 would never be Cardassia. He'd hungered for a return to his native land, and his greatest wish had been granted. And so Julian had parted with a promise to visit during shore leave. Garak had assured him that the vineyard would be as he remembered it.  
  
Smiling, Julian prodded his traveling valise with his toe, hearing the clink of bottles within. Before he'd left, Garak had insisted he take bottles of toloc to “the lovely Colonel and Counselor” and also to Quark, as it might be advantageous to open up talks with the Ferengi to sell the drink on the station in order to turn a greater profit for himself. That wasn't prohibited under Cardassian law and Garak had mentioned wanting to build an addition to his home. His toloc sold well in the city centers and some of the densely populated provinces, and he could do with more room to expand his brewing operation.

He had also given Julian a special bottle of the alcohol - one that had a dark label, but no writing. It was, Garak had said with a smile, a special blend that was for Julian's lips alone, made from many of the berries they'd … _sampled_  during their afternoon tryst. Julian couldn't wait until he was back in his quarters on the station so that he could taste the wine and remember what had been the single most sensual experience of his life.

Julian thought of Palis and the residue of regret he had over their missed opportunity. He was glad now that he had not romped with her so long ago. No matter how amazing it might have been, it would not have compared with what he and Garak had shared. Nothing could.  
  
His smile turned to a grin and he dug the bottle out and studied it fondly. Why wait until he reached the station? Garak had cautioned that unlike wine, toloc did not improve with age. Working the cork out with his thumb, Julian looked out his port window toward Cardassia and raised the bottle in a toast. Taking a sip, he silently praised Garak's green thumb and began counting the days until his next leave.  
  
End

 


End file.
